Le Bien Qui Fait Mal
by amazon9398
Summary: 24 year old Francis Bonnefoy just wanted to be an artist. He never asked to become his baby brother's sole guardian and he certainly never wanted an obnoxious punk rocker Brit as an upstairs neighbor. Feeling trapped in life and looking for an escape, will he realize that he and Arthur have more in common than they think? Is the vulgar Brit the escape he's been looking for?
1. Ch 1: Horloges précises et blocs d'art

_**A/N: Well, here it is 2018 and I'm still stuck deep in the Hetalia fandom. This here is a little plot bunny I got in my head after listening to the song Le bien qui fait mal by Mozart Rock Opera. I've got a few more chapters mapped out but maybe won't write more unless people follow/review this one. Either way, hope you guys enjoy this one! Also, kudos to anyone who actually translates the name of this chapter. Just my attempt at being cute.**_

 **Chapter 1: Horloges précises et blocs d'art**

The brush moved delicately across the canvas, bathing the newly created cityscape in colorful hues of orange, yellow, and pink. It was a perfect morning. One of the last few warm days of the year. It was comfortable enough outside that he could sit on the balcony and re-create the city in the distance on the canvas in front of him. Erasing it of its imperfections and forever capturing it in its current peaceful state. He just needed to capture the exact angle of the rising sun's rays over the-

' _I need to wake Matthieu up in exactly seventeen minutes.'_

The thought completely threw off his current state of mind. In fact, it was so abrupt it made the hand holding the paint brush veer slightly off course, ruining the ray of light he had been working so hard to capture. The man took a deep breath. No matter, he still had a little bit of time, he could fix this…

He put the brush back to the canvas and had only just begun shaping a new ray of sun to illuminate his little city when another thought broke through and interrupted him once more.

' _I really should check the traffic report before I wake him up. He'll be late if I choose the wrong route to school…'_

Once again, his precise movement was interrupted, and he found the line he had been trying to paint ruined. Francis felt his lips press into a line as he stared at the canvas bitterly. Suddenly everything about it was all wrong. The cityscape was a jagged mess, the so-called sunrise was completely comprised of the wrong colors, and the angle of the piece was simply atrocious.

The young man let out a frustrated growl and stood up. He wished desperately that he had a cigarette to press into the canvas so that he could destroy the cursed image at that very moment, but Matthieu had found his last pack and flushed them down the toilet the previous night.

Francis knew that his younger brother was just trying to look out for his health. He knew that he really did need to quit the nasty habit, but he also knew that he really needed a cigarette right then.

The 24-year-old turned on the small tv in his room to listen to the traffic report before putting on a fresh nicotine patch and glaring at it irritably in the mirror. So far instead of satisfying him the damn things had only given him horrendous headaches and nausea. However, Matthieu was always so proud of him for trying to quit, so he forced himself to wear the awful patches every day.

Francis glanced at the clock and quickly started putting on his uniform for work. He was a waiter at a five-star restaurant in the heart of the city. He didn't make enough to live a very glamourous life, and some months were harder than others, but since he only needed to support himself and Matthieu he was usually able to make do.

Lately the man had been kicking around the idea of picking up a second job, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He already had so little time to pursue art and he was afraid a second job would completely nail shut the coffin that held his dreams.

Before his parent's untimely death, Francis had been an aspiring artist. He'd been finishing up his first year at an esteemed art school when the news of their car accident had reached him. Within four months he'd gone from talented and aspiring art student to the sole guardian of his one-year-old brother. It was almost funny, in an ironic way. People generally said that suffering made artists better, but suffering had almost completely separated Francis from his art.

He did his best to keep up with it and continue to try and follow his dream, but it was extremely hard between work and caring for Matthieu. Those two things took up so much space in his mind that Francis had been battling a case of art block for going on two years now. Every time he tried to break out of his rut it ended up like it had this morning, with him glaring at a ruined canvas and desperately wishing for a cigarette.

He frowned softly at his reflection in the mirror, expertly tying his bowtie before getting lost in his thoughts once more.

Poor Matthieu couldn't even remember their parents. Francis had done his best to keep their memory alive in him with photos and stories, but Matthieu couldn't exactly remember the first year of his life, so to him their parents were just kind strangers that Francis happened to know a lot about…

Francis knew Matthieu had unresolved feelings about the entire thing, but he had absolutely no idea how to approach the boy regarding them. He couldn't exactly afford a child therapist with his salary, and he didn't have enough time to try and read anymore sappy parenting books like he'd had to when Matthieu was still an infant…

So, Francis let those feelings remain where they were. Matthieu was a smart boy, if something was truly bothering him Francis was positive that his little brother would tell him about it. Sure, Matthieu was a little shy around others and overall very soft-spoken, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't tell Francis when something was up.

The man finished his routine by tying off his long hair with a small ribbon. His appearance was something he'd always worked hard to maintain, and he was thankful that the restaurant he worked for had an appreciation for his "sophisticated" look.

He glanced at his alarm clock and sighed in relief. Perfect. Right on time.

Francis headed across the hall into Matthieu's room and turned on the light. "Alright, time to get up! C'est un nouveau jour!" He said cheerfully and watched as the little cocoon of blankets began to move around.

"Nooooooon" replied the tired little bundle. "It can't be time for school already!" Matthieu whined.

Francis let out a chuckle and glanced at Matthieu's alarm clock. It was a dark blue color, matching with most of the room. However, Matthieu also insisted on collecting anything polar bear related, so the room was decorated with posters of the animal along with figurines, plushies, and even a white bed frame that had bear ears at the top (Francis had thought it was a little tacky but Matthieu had absolutely insisted on buying it.).

"School doesn't start for another hour and 26 minutes, but it is time for you to get up. Otherwise you'll be late!"

The 6-year-old finally poked his head out from below the bundle of blankets and pouted adorably. "We don't have to be right on time _every_ day…" He mumbled.

Francis let out a snort. "Nonsense. Being on time is important. If you aren't on time to your job later in life your boss will fire you, you know."

Little blue eyes widened considerably. "Really…?"

"Really" Francis replied solemnly. "Which is exactly what will happen to me if you don't get out of bed and start getting ready right now! We're already a whole two minutes behind schedule!"

The child let out a small whimper but stood up and headed to the bathroom as Francis started to pull out some clothes for him to wear that day. Matthieu clicked start on the little electric timer on the sink and brushed his teeth with his polar bear toothbrush for exactly two minutes until the timer let out a shrill beep and he rinsed his mouth out.

By the time Matt had returned to his room Francis had finished laying out clothes for him and was already in the kitchen making breakfast for the two of them. It was Tuesday which meant he'd be making poached eggs with a side of bacon and some sliced fruit. His brother was a wonderful cook, but Matthieu wished that he would add a little more variety to their menu. If the 6-year-old was given a calendar he could probably map out exactly what they would have for breakfast lunch and dinner every day of the month.

The boy finished dressing himself and went out to sit at the island in their kitchen. Francis hadn't wanted to spend money on a table for just the two of them, so they made do with what they had.

Matt looked up as his brother set the plates down and took his own seat across from him. "Don't forget," the six-year-old began. "We need to go to the library after school today so that I can do some research for my polar bear report!"

Francis nodded. "Oui, I remembered. Now eat up! We have to leave in exactly fourteen minutes!" he chided as he started working on his breakfast, wanting to get through the dishes before he had to drive Matthieu to school.

Francis was glad that he had decided to listen to the traffic report this morning. There had been an accident on their normal route, but he'd had enough time to find a satisfactory detour and deliver Matt to school right on time, as usual.

He waved out the window to his little brother and smiled before driving off to work, not noticing the nervous look that crossed Matthieu's face as he approached the doors of the building.

As he drove to work Francis couldn't help but recall bits and pieces of his previous life. He'd won all kinds of scholarships for art during his final year in high school. He'd taken home first place in every school, county, state, and regional art show he'd been in.

It helped that he'd had his parents back then. They were gentle people, both hailing from wealthy families. His father had always had more of an eye for business than art, but that didn't stop him from supporting Francis however he could.

His mother had been his true inspiration. She'd been a small-time fashion designer and had taught Francis the basics of art when he was very young. She was always honest in her critiques of his work and was always willing to be a model for whatever wild idea Francis had thought up.

The man found himself smiling sadly as he drove. He had aspirations back then. People expected things of him. He was going to go places, do things. People around the world would know about him.

And yet… life had found a way to pull the rug out from under him. He wondered vaguely if it was because he'd stopped putting as much effort into his work when he had arrived at art school. He was leaps and bounds better than most of his peers, so he'd found himself instead getting involved in the party scene. School was actually where he'd picked up smoking… He was almost glad that his parents had never had to see him light up or do half of the things he'd done at school. They certainly wouldn't have approved.

The man felt a gentle blanket of sadness fall over him as he continued his commute. He'd been so surprised to hear that his parents were expecting another son during his Junior year in high school.

At first Francis had been a little weirded out by the thought of having a brother that young, but his parents had been so happy about it that he couldn't bring himself to stay mad for long. After all, he figured he wouldn't really have much to do with Matthieu since he was almost out of school and getting ready to start his own life. How wrong that had been…

Francis felt a small stab of anger in his chest. If Matthieu hadn't been born, then he could have just moved on after his parent's death. Perhaps gone through some sort of blue phase and be more popular because of it…

Instead he was stuck in the same no-name city he'd grown up in. Forced to work as a pitiful waiter of all things. Nobody expected anything of him now. Nobody knew or cared about his name anymore. He was just one of millions in a sea of mediocrity.

Francis gripped the steering wheel tightly, forcing such thoughts from his head. That wasn't true. Matthieu depended on him, expected things from him, loved him more than anyone else in the world. He couldn't blame his misfortune on his brother, he had nothing to do with it.

That was just something Francis would need to learn to accept.

Work was wholly unremarkable that day. Most people were outside enjoying one of the last few warm October days before Autumn really bore down on them and prepared to make way for Winter. Nobody wanted to spend their day trapped inside some stuffy French restaurant.

Since it was so empty that day, he got to spend the day in the back with the rest of the staff playing card games. He was even lucky enough to bum a cigarette off a fellow waiter and because of that was in a much better mood when he picked Matthieu up from school that afternoon.

"How was your day?" The elder brother asked as he set Matthieu's polar bear backpack in the backseat of the car that had gotten him through the last eight years of his life.

"It was fine…" Came the quiet reply as the boy looked out the window with a small frown.

"Just fine? Nothing exciting happened?" Francis asked as he pulled away from the curb and headed towards the public library.

"Non, not really… we did get to go outside and look at the leaves during science hour though!" The boy replied, his tone picking up a little as he began discussing all the pretty leaves he'd found that day.

Francis listened intently to Matthieu's story. He nodded when appropriate and threw in a few "Oh's" when needed. Soon enough they arrived at the library and Matthieu eagerly hopped out of the car. The boy insisted on putting the quarters into their parking meter before heading inside the large building with Francis.

The two of them walked up to the information desk where the librarian was hunched over working on something. Francis couldn't see the man's face through the mess of blonde hair and the man hadn't noticed them standing there at all.

After a couple moments of looking at the man expectantly, Francis finally cleared his throat. "Er-… Excuse me. Where might we find some books on polar bears…?" He asked awkwardly, waiting for the man to look up and acknowledge him.

Instead of looking up, the irritated man just raised a hand and pointed to their right. "590's." Came the harsh reply. "Specifically, 599 - the Mammalia section." Without another word the man lowered his hand and went right back to whatever he was working on.

Francis frowned very deeply. What a rude man. Weren't librarians supposed to be cute old ladies who found great joy in getting children to read?

"Right, merci." He replied tensely before taking Matthieu's hand and leading him to that section, trying to explain what he remembered of the Dewey Decimal System on the way.

Twenty minutes later they were situated at a table and Matt had a handful of simple zoology books that he was taking notes from to use in his little report. Francis vaguely wondered what kind of report a six-year-old could write, but school had constantly been changing since he'd graduated.

Matthieu's class used some form of smart device to learn almost every single day, and apparently his school gave out tablets to the middle and high school students to use for work throughout the year. The thought of it made Francis' head spin a little.

Satisfied that Matt was engrossed in his work, the man took out his sketchbook and opened it up to a fresh page. He hoped to just do a quick sketch of the cover of one of Matt's books, but every time he started to get into the rhythm he found himself interrupted by a question.

"Francis, what's this word?" Matthieu asked and turned the book, pointing to the word in question.

Francis glanced up from his drawing to check it. "Vertebrate." He replied and looked back down.

Matt glanced at it again. "… Francis, what does vertebrate mean?" The boy asked softly, looking up at his brother who frowned as he was torn from his drawing again.

"Vertebrate means that something has a spine. A polar bear is a vertebrate. Humans are vertebrates." He replied swiftly and returned to drawing. He almost had the eyes correct-

"…What about this word, Francis?"

The man took a deep breath. He was not going to get any sketching done here. He shut his sketchbook and moved his seat closer to Matthieu's to look over the word. Instead of getting a few good sketches done he spent two full hours expanding Matt's vocabulary.

By the time they were ready to leave the grouchy librarian from before had been replaced by a much kinder old woman who chatted with them as she checked the books out.

Francis signed Matthieu up for a library card and watched his little brother excitedly write his name on the card before they put the books into his backpack and headed home for the night.

Matthieu could tell that Francis was frustrated on the drive home. He knew his brother wanted to spend time sketching at the library today, but some of those words were just so hard…

Francis glanced over at Matt and froze when he saw small tears streaming down the boy's cheeks. He quickly pulled onto a side street and kept his blinker on as he turned to face the boy.

"Matthieu? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" the man asked, concern evident in his tired eyes.

Matt sniffled and just shook his head as he let out a few small blubbers.

"T-Then why are you crying little one?" Francis asked softly and leaned over to gently wipe the child's tears.

"C-Cause you're mad at me!" Matthieu sobbed, more tears quickly replacing the ones that had been wiped away.

"M-Mad at you?! What have I done to make you think that?!" Francis stammered, genuinely confused by his brother's accusation.

"Y-You wanted to draw while we were at the library, but you c-couldn't cause I kept asking you questions!" He bawled. "I annoyed you! I'm sorry! Please don't be mad at me!"

Francis froze, and felt his eyes soften a little. He had read in one of those sappy parenting books that children were very good at picking up emotions, even those that you tried to hide. Had Matthieu really been able to notice his frustration? He felt bad for hurting his brother's feelings if that was the case.

"Matthieu, I'm not mad at you." He said softly.

The boy sniffled and looked up at him miserably. "B-But…"

"But nothing. I'm sorry if I seemed frustrated with you. It's true that I was planning on sketching at the library today, but your questions are much more important to me. I want you to feel like you can ask or tell me anything, Matthieu. Even if you feel like you're bothering me." He said softly, reaching over again to gently wipe the tears from the boy's cheeks.

Matt looked up with pitiful, wide eyes. "R-Really? Promise...?"

Francis nodded firmly. "Promise. Je t'aime, Matthieu." He said and leaned over to hug his brother close.

The boy sniffled and cuddled into the hug as much as the seatbelt would allow. "Je t'aime…"

Matthieu had been quiet after his little episode in the car, and Francis was thankful for that. Once Matthieu was fed, cleaned, and tucked in all according to schedule, the man found himself sprawled out on their couch, staring at the ceiling.

Had he really been so hostile earlier that Matthieu had picked up on it? Was he really that bad of a parent? Matthieu didn't even feel like he could talk to him…

The man rolled over onto his side and groaned as he buried his face in his hands. He wasn't cut out for this. While he was in college Francis had always pictured himself as a globetrotting artist with no time for a family life. Now that he'd been thrust into one, he wasn't sure how long he could keep it up.

He rolled over again and went back to staring at the ceiling. Was this some sign from God? Every time he tried to create even the smallest work of art he always found himself torn away by distractions such as work, bills, Matthieu…perhaps it was time he put away his brushes for good and focused on working towards a stable career that could better support his brother…

The man grimaced and shook the thought from his head as he stood up. Non, he couldn't do that. Give up on his dreams…? He promised himself he would never do that. Yet… life wasn't getting any cheaper. There was no way he'd be able to Matt through college on a waiter's salary… he needed to sleep on it.

Francis let out a soft sigh before heading to his bedroom, changing into some pajama bottoms and flopping into his bed. The thought of doing the exact same things tomorrow and for at least the next twelve years made the man sick to his stomach, but he forced the feeling down and tried to sleep.

Forty-five minutes later Francis found himself staring at the ceiling once more. However, this time he wasn't lost in thought, he was steaming with anger. He could hear some form of loud, terrible music coming from directly above him. He glanced over at his clock and saw that it was 12:23 in the morning. Didn't the jerk in the apartment above him know that he had to be up in exactly five hours and thirty-seven minutes?!

When the clock hit 12:45 Francis was unable to take it any longer. He threw off his blankets and angrily put on his bathrobe before storming out of his apartment and up the stairwell. He felt angered by the fact that he couldn't hear the music again until he got right to the apartment door. Were they really playing right above him?! Whoever it was, he was going to give them a piece of his mind.

Without waiting another minute, Francis raised his hand and started angrily pounding on the apartment door.

 _ **A/N: Well, there's chapter one. What do you guys think? Want to see more? Next chapter will be a look into Arthur's life and how he arrived to this point. Sound interesting? I hope you guys want to see more of this! Please leave a review if you're going to follow, they really keep me going!**_


	2. Ch 2: Burned Grains and Missed Trains

_**A/N: Here we are with Chapter 2! The response to this story has been great! I'm glad people like it! This chapter is where it begins to earn its M rating. You didn't think a punk rocker wouldn't have a potty-mouth, right? This chapter and the rest of the fic will contain offensive language, so be warned. Enjoy!**_

 _ **BTW, obviously I don't own Hetalia or any other pop culture things referenced in this chapter.**_

 **Chapter 2: Burned Grains and Missed Trains**

 _Arthur grinned wildly as he gripped the mic, sweat dripping down his forehead as he banged his head to the rhythm the band behind him was putting down._

" _It's always tease, tease, tease," The Brit began as the crowd picked up in energy._

" _You're happy when I'm on my knees._

 _One day it's fine and next it's black._

 _So, if you want me off your back,_

 _Well, come on and let me know_

 _Should I stay, or should I go?"_

 _Arthur threw his head back and reveled in the crowd cheering his name, growing in volume and power._

" _Arthur! Arthur!"_

 _Wait, something wasn't right..._

 _Arthur! Ar-_ thur!... Arthur!"

The 23-year-old sat up with a yowl as he felt a sharp pain in his ear. Had Alfred seriously yanked on one of his earrings?!

"Ow! What the FUCK Alfred?!" The man growled, turning to glare at his six-year-old brother who glared right back.

"You've slept your alarm three times, Arthur." Alfred mumbled as he looked away with a pout. "We're going to miss the train…" He glanced back up at his brother and snorted. "And you've still got your makeup on." He teased.

Arthur blinked and gently touched his face, swearing when he saw a bit of eyeliner smudge his hand. He'd really crashed after their gig last night, huh?

"Well, are you at least ready to go?!" Arthur asked as he stood up and quickly headed over to his closet to find come work clothes, nearly tripping as he peeled himself out of the previous night's black skinny jeans on the way over.

"Uhhh… I figured I should get you up first." Alfred mumbled.

Arthur groaned. "I'm up! Hurry up and get dressed!" He said quickly. "If you beat me I'll let you swipe the train card today!" He added.

Upon hearing the second part of the sentence Alfred raced out of the room. Arthur almost chuckled at how easy it was. Alfred loved "competing" against Arthur in the little games the elder brother thought up.

They both arrived at the bathroom at the same time. Arthur started quickly scrubbing at his face with a moist washcloth to rid himself of the previous night's makeup and sweat. He really wished he had time to shower but beggars couldn't be choosers. The man dried his face and grabbed his toothbrush along with Alfred's. "Right," He began as he handed Alfred his toothbrush. "Two minutes. No cheating… Go!"

The both started vigorously started brushing their teeth as Arthur hit shuffle on his phone and a random song started playing. He thought it was something by _Sex Pistols,_ but he wasn't really paying attention. Instead he was watching in amusement as Alfred happily banged his head and danced around as he brushed his teeth. Arthur was proud of himself for finding a way to make one of his most hated childhood chores fun for his little brother.

A timer went off and Arthur stopped the music as they began rinsing their mouths out. "You brush your hair." He ordered as he quickly took out most of his piercings, leaving only the one in his tongue. "What do you want for breakfast? Toast or cereal?

Alfred grimaced at the thought of how badly their toaster scorched bread. "Cereal." The boy said quickly as he started putting a comb through his messy hair in an attempt to tame it.

Arthur nodded and headed out to the kitchen. He was about to pour some cereal for them but froze when he saw the timer on the microwave. "Shit!" He cried and quickly headed to the bread box instead. "Alfred, you're going to have to deal with toast!" The man called as he slid a few pieces into the toaster and pushed them down.

While he waited for the bread to cook (more like burn, really), he slid on his shoes and checked over his appearance one last time.

Arthur utterly _despised_ having to dress like an old man, but there was no way he could land a real job the way he normally dressed. Most places of business had no appreciation for tight jeans and shirts, combat boots, or piercings. He couldn't believe he'd ended up in a library of all God-forsaken places. What kind of punk rocker worked at a _library_ for Christ's sake?!

The man forced himself to hold in a groan. The library was easy work with flexible hours. Even if he had to dress in shitty sweater vests and slacks, working there at least left him with enough free time to work on new songs for his band. If only he could bring his guitar and actually practice them while he was there. That would be _really_ productive…

He was knocked from his thoughts as two pieces of charcoal popped up from their toaster and Alfred entered the kitchen. The elder brother quickly slathered both pieces in strawberry jam before handing one to Alfred and grabbing the boy's other hand, unceremoniously dragging him out the door of their little apartment.

The walk to the train station was basically a sprint. Arthur had practically dragged his little brother the entire way and they _still_ ended up missing their train. The man let out a groan as he doubled over and panted. He really should quit smoking, clearly it wasn't doing his lungs any favors…

He glanced up at the six-year-old who was staring at the tracks with a small frown.

"Come on, Champ." Arthur sighed as he righted himself. "Looks like we're walking today…" He took Alfred's hand and began ascending the stairs back to the city streets with him.

"The teacher's gonna be mad that I'm tardy again…" Alfred mumbled, keeping his eyes on the ground as he and his brother walked towards his school.

Arthur frowned a little and glanced down at the boy. "What have I told you? If she's got a problem, then tell her to bring it up with me." He said flatly, a look of disgust crossing his face. Arthur had always despised the public education system. Teachers could be some of the world's biggest bullies…

Alfred nodded gently. "Right…" He mumbled, unusually silent that morning.

Arthur picked up on this immediately. "… Has someone been bothering you at school lately, Al?" He asked seriously and watched his little brother for a response.

The boy frowned deeply. "I mean… nothing I can't handle. The usual. Just some jerks that make fun of me for being late all the time… they say it's cause I don't have a mom to take care of me the right way…" He mumbled.

Arthur grit his teeth. Little kids were such bastards. "Have you been doing what I've been telling you to do?" He asked, watching cars pass them by as they walked.

"Telling them to piss off? Yeah." He smiled softly as Arthur chuckled and ruffled his hair.

"That's the way. I'm proud of you." The elder brother said but his smile faded a little. "Listen, Alfred… It's really important that you try not to get into _too_ much trouble at school, okay?" He asked gently. "Defending yourself against dickwads is fine, but your teacher's been telling me that you've been putting up a fight about doing some of your work. You… You can't keep doing that, alright?"

The boy froze and looked up at his brother. "B-But… But half of the work we do is so stupid! I don't care about making paper birds or reading dumb picture books!" He grumbled, and Arthur frowned.

"I know some of it seems dumb but… you have to try your best to do well in school." He said and stopped walking, kneeling to look his brother in the eyes. "I've already got people breathing down my neck about raising you…" Arthur looked away, unable to look Alfred in the eyes as he mentioned that. "If you keep getting in trouble at school then they'll have even more of a reason to bitch about me." He muttered and glanced back at the boy, noticing that Alfred's fists were clenched.

Alfred shook a little and glared at his brother. "B-But you're the one who always listens to songs and sings about fighting the system!" He growled. "Isn't it bad to just follow orders without uh…" the boy stumbled a little over the hard word. "Re-… resistance! If we don't revolt, then we'll just get used up like everyone else!"

Arthur almost swore. Damn his little brother for picking up on so many things… "Alfred those are just songs. Not all of them are meant to be taken literally…" He mumbled but was interrupted by the boy again.

"YOU take them literally!" Alfred growled. "You're the one who always acts out!"

Arthur frowned deeply, growing frustrated. "Am I dressed like I'm going to be acting out today?!" he growled and gestured to himself. "I'm in a bloody sweater vest and slacks, Alfred." He said flatly. "Do I like them? No, of course not. But I put up with them because I need to make money for us. Sometimes we have to play along with the system, even if we don't like it." He said with a sigh.

Alfred looked at him with a deep frown. "You've still got your tongue piercing in." He muttered. "You're still sort of revolting."

Arthur frowned. "But it's not something big like refusing to do work. It's something small that nobody will notice. Small things like that are okay because you're still revolting. Just in secret, like a spy."

The boy perked up a little. "Or like Batman! He's pretty stealthy!"

Arthur nodded and relaxed a little. "Right. It's okay to do small things that don't bother others. That way you're still revolting _and_ playing along with the system. So, you don't raise any suspicions about your secret identity." He said seriously, and Alfred grinned.

"I get it!" The boy said cheerfully. "So, I can still revolt, but I just gotta be sneaky about it."

Arthur nodded gently. "Right. Small things that don't bother people and won't get you in big trouble." He said with a smile.

Alfred nodded and looked over as they arrived in front of his school building. "Thanks, Artie." The boy said gently before hugging his brother's legs.

Arthur blushed a little, ruffling Alfred's hair and watching him run off into the building before he turned and continued his walk to the library.

The blonde sighed softly as he stared at the notebook in front of him. He was supposed to be working on a new song that day, but his thoughts kept wandering to the previous night's gig. They'd worked for months to secure a gig at a local bar and when they'd finally had the opportunity to play last night… they'd completely bombed!

Arthur had sung and played his heart out, but it seemed like the others just weren't in it. Matthias had gotten so drunk before the show that he could barely keep a steady beat on the drums, and Antonio seemed like he had stage fright!

The Brit rubbed his temples as he stared at the empty notebook. He'd never pictured Antonio as someone who suffered from stage fright. He'd dated Antonio for Christ's sake. Not once during their entire fling had the man ever seemed shy or embarrassed, in public or private. He'd have to have a talk with him about it at practice tonight, even if they weren't on the greatest terms anymore… He didn't know what he'd do about Matthias. The Dane had always been wild like that…

Arthur sighed softly as feelings of doubt and melancholy settled over him. Would they ever make it big at this point? Matthias only seemed to participate in the band to find new bars around the city and they'd never find good gigs if Antonio let stage fright control his performances… They weren't getting any younger. They wouldn't have energy to keep up with the rockstar lifestyle if they continued at this pace.

The rockstar lifestyle… could Arthur even do that with Alfred around? Living out of a tour bus wasn't exactly a sturdy lifestyle for a child. If they really made it big, couldn't he just pay for a nanny or something to care for Alfred while he was away?

Arthur felt a small frown cross his face. Did he even want a life without Alfred anymore? He was working so hard to keep CPS off his back… if he really wanted the boy out of the picture he could just call them to take him.

He felt a spark of anger rise inside of him and quickly grabbed his pencil. Fuck that. He wasn't going to let those bastards take him and put him in some dumpy foster home. He'd figure out some way to include Alfred when they made it big. The boy had always been their number one fan. No way in hell was Arthur going to throw him to the dogs.

The man smirked as harsh lyrics were born from his rage. He quickly began writing them down in the notebook, doing his best to come up with some melody or rhythm to go with them.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there writing when he heard a man clear his throat.

Arthur's pencil stilled, and he gripped it in frustration. He was right in the middle of the final verse! Couldn't this man tell that he was busy? Could people not read the labels on the shelves? Seriously, different sections weren't that hard to find.

Arthur paused as the man spoke, he looked up at him through messy blonde hair, knowing the man couldn't see his eyes through the forest of disorganized blonde locks.

"Er-… Excuse me. Where might we find some books on polar bears…?" The man asked. Arthur noticed a little boy standing beside him and almost did a double take. The kid looked a lot like Alfred…

He shook the thought from his head and put on his best "don't bother me" voice as he pointed to their right. "590's". He said flatly, quickly adding to the response. "Specifically, 599 - the Mammalia section." He finished and quickly went back to his notebook, freezing up as he realized the last few lyrics seemed to have slipped his mind.

He held in a groan as the two awkwardly walked away and he desperately searched his mind for the last few words he needed to finish his sentence. "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit." He mumbled and slumped forward onto the desk. He'd forgotten them. He'd be trying to figure it out all night now! People always had to interrupt him at the most inconvenient times…

The man sighed heavily and turned to glance at the clock. It was almost time to clock out and take the train home. Alfred had likely beaten him there. Most people gave him funny looks when he mentioned that his six-year-old brother rode the subway by himself, but Arthur wasn't ever really bothered by it. Alfred was a pretty independent kid. He knew how to bite and swear and fight if someone tried to fuck with him.

As the clock struck four Arthur gathered his things up and clocked out, walking out of the library and heading home.

The man sighed tiredly as he opened the door to the apartment. "I'm home!" he called and found his little brother watching cartoons with a bowl of cereal in his lap.

The boy looked over and watched Arthur slip his shoes and vest off. "Hey Artie." He mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. "How was work?"

Arthur groaned and flopped onto the couch next to him. "Boring as hell. School?" The man asked in return, focusing on the cartoon Alfred was watching.

"Same." The boy mumbled and shoveled another bite of cereal into his mouth.

"Finish your homework yet?" Arthur asked and looked back over at the boy, deciding that whatever was on the screen was probably less important than Alfred's sinking grades.

Alfred paused. "I was uhhhh… waiting for you to get home. I need some help…" He mumbled.

Arthur frowned softly. He knew Alfred was lying. The boy was very bright, just lazy. However, he'd play along with his little game. "Alright. Get your homework set up at the table. I'll be right out to help you once I change out of my work clothes." The man stood, taking Alfred's empty bowl and placing it in the sink as he walked past it to his bedroom.

Once he was in some more comfortable clothes he came out to join Alfred at the table and watch him work, waiting for all the "questions" the boy had for him.

Unsurprisingly, they never came.

Half an hour later Arthur fished his phone out of his pocket and answered it after it had started ringing.

"Hello?"

"Arthur!" The cheerful Spanish accent rang out from the other end and Arthur rolled his eyes. Loud as usual. How could this man possibly suffer from stage fright?

"Yes Toni? What is it?" He asked, glancing back at Alfred to make sure the boy was still working on his homework.

"We still on for practice at your place?"

"Of course. God knows we have to discuss the fucking train wreck that went down last night." Arthur sighed heavily. "The usual time."

There was a small pause. "Right… want me to grab some dinner for us before I head over?"

Arthur paused and smiled. There was a reason he still liked Antonio. "That'd be fantastic mate. I'll chip in when you get here. Just grab whatever. You know Alfred and I aren't picky. See you soon." He hung up and looked over at the boy who was finishing up his homework. He walked over and ruffled Alfred's hair.

"Antonio's bringing dinner with him when he comes over for practice tonight."

Alfred paused and grinned. "Thank God. I'm pretty sure the chicken you tried to make earlier this week is still trying to crawl out of the garbage can." He teased and laughed at Arthur's offended look.

"Come on, it wasn't THAT bad!"

"I'm telling you, it moved after you put it on my plate!"

"Butter chicken for Alfred…" Antonio mumbled as he handed out the last of the Indian take out to Arthur's younger brother.

The boy grinned. "Thanks, Toni!" He said with a smile and tore open the container, digging in with an almost desperate air about him.

Antonio couldn't blame him; Arthur's cooking could kill a man. He was amazed the boy had survived this long under Arthur's care. Even just dating him for a few months, Antonio had insisted on either eating out or cooking every meal they ate himself.

Arthur smiled as he took the lid off of his own food and raised his fork in Toni's direction. "Cheers Antonio, this is great." He said and started eating happily, looking up as Matthias waltzed through the door.

"What's up, shitheads?" The Dane teased, grabbing a spot at the table. "Ready for another grueling practice?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Elegant as ever, Matthias. Practice won't be too grueling tonight. We need to talk about last night's gig first." He mumbled and noticed that the other two men had quieted a little. So, they recognized that it had gone poorly as well.

Matthias frowned. "Yeah… it was a little rough."

Arthur shot him a look. "A little rough? You were so hammered by the time we took the stage that you couldn't even keep a steady beat going."

Matthias glared as Antonio nodded in silent agreement with Arthur. "That place sold fancy microbrews and shit! You never know how hard those things are going to hit!" He growled, and Arthur glared right back at him.

"You shouldn't be drinking that much before a show regardless of what kind of drink it is." He said flatly.

Antonio nodded gently. "Seriously amigo, you were in a pretty poor state last night…" He mumbled.

Matthias held in a growl. Those two were constantly ganging up on him. It wasn't his fault they hadn't worked out as fuckbuddies. "Whatever, I'll stop drinking so much before shows then." He muttered and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, extracting one from the box and lighting it.

Arthur paused and frowned deeply. "Window or balcony, your choice." He said flatly.

Matthias froze. "What? YOU smoke! You're telling me I'm not allowed to light up in here anymore?!" He grumbled.

"I smoke on the balcony or near the window. Seriously, that shit's bad for Alfred's lungs." He muttered.

Matthias glared and grumbled something about "freezing his balls off" before he headed out to the balcony.

The meal was finished quickly after that, and Arthur told his brother to go get ready for bed.

Alfred obediently walked towards the bathroom to get ready for bed as his brother, Antonio, and Matthias worked diligently to set up some equipment in the guest bedroom.

It was a little cramped, but Arthur had gone through the painstaking process of soundproofing the room so that they didn't disturb Alfred or any of the neighbors while they practiced. The floor was still a little thin, but he'd done such a good job with the rest of the room that you'd have to be directly below them to hear anything. He was proud to say that he hadn't received a complaint yet.

"By the way, Antonio," Arthur began as he worked on setting up an amp. "I wanted to ask you what happened at the show last night. You didn't really seem like yourself while we were playing."

The Spanish man paused and looked a little bashful. "Oh well, you see, I uh-. " He began but Arthur paused when Alfred's voice rang through the apartment.

"Arthur! Come on! You know the deal!" The boy whined, and Arthur chuckled. "Hold that thought." He said and walked out, going to tuck Alfred in and wish him goodnight.

When the British man returned he seemed to have completely forgotten about his conversation with Antonio and just picked up his guitar, giving it an experimental strum.

"Alright, ready?" He asked as the other two took up their instruments. "…Two, three, four!"

After about two hours of practicing hard Arthur was satisfied with their progress. "Wish I could remember the damn lyrics from earlier…" He mumbled as he took a drink of water. "It'd really kill at our next gig." He grinned.

Matthias rolled his eyes and Antonio was about to reply but paused when they heard a loud banging noise.

"Shit, is that your door?" Antonio frowned. "It's almost one in the morning. Who the hell is knocking at this hour?"

Arthur frowned deeply. "Don't know. I'll go figure it out." He wiped some sweat from his brow and headed out to the door, frowning more as he approached it before turning the handle and opening it.

"Do you need something?"

 _ **A/N: Another chapter down! I'm glad people like this story. Unfortunately, the next chapter won't be out as fast as this one was since final projects are still dragging me down. Maybe by Sunday… Anyways, hope you guys also leave great reviews on this chapter! They're such great motivation for me! Thanks again!**_


	3. Ch 3: Black Eyes and White Lies

_**A/N: Here we are with Chapter 3! Arthur and Francis finally meet, and the story develops a bit more! A couple OC's for plot's sake and a couple more pop culture references that I don't own along with Hetalia. Hope you enjoy it!**_

 **Chapter 3: Black Eyes and White Lies / Yeux noirs et mensonges blancs**

"Can I help you?" The British man asked, annoyance clearly audible in his tone.

Francis was offended just looking at the man. He could barely make out a face beneath all those piercings and the blonde's fashion sense was _horrendous_. Black skinny jeans, combat boots, and a ripped tee shirt to tie it all together? The shorter man looked like he'd crawled straight out of a grungy London subway. The entire look was disgusting to Francis' so-called "sophisticated eye".

"Oui, you can help me." Francis responded flatly. "It's 12:50 in the morning and you are playing loud, awful music while people are trying to sleep! This is an apartment complex! Not some dirty garage! Have some decency!" Francis growled.

Oddly enough it felt… good… to yell at someone like that. Even if he got into an argument with Matthieu, he always had to be the bigger person. It wasn't like he could flat out yell at a six-year-old like he could with this man.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're the first person to ever complain." The Brit said flatly. "The room is sound proof. You sound like you're just looking for an excuse to bitch at someone." He said, a bit of venom finding it's way into his voice.

Who did this guy think he was? Didn't he understand that Arthur only had a limited number of hours in the week he could dedicate to practicing? His band needed all the practice they could get, and nothing was going to stand in the way of that.

Francis looked taken aback at the man's vulgar language. He let out a small growl. "What a detestable little man you are! I suppose you think the world revolves around you, hm? What kind of asshole holds band practice after midnight?!"

"An asshole who can't practice at any other time." Arthur said coldly. "We aren't stopping. Buy some earplugs or something." He muttered and went to shut the door in Francis' face, but was surprised when a foot stopped it from shutting completely. He looked up at Francis in shock. "Get your fucking foot out of my apartment!" He snapped, anger reaching his eyes as the man started to annoy him.

Francis glared. Normally he would never do something so bold but this man… angered him. He hadn't felt this worked up in years. This douche probably thought that the world revolved around him! What gave him the right to stay up till all hours of the night, playing horrendous music, laughing with his friends… Francis clenched his fists. This man may not have had responsibilities, but other people did. "If you do not agree to stop I'm alerting the landlord." Francis said flatly.

At this Arthur opened the door again, finally letting out a frustrated growl. "That room is soundproof unless you're directly under it." The Brit said flatly, glaring at Francis as he spoke. "If you're right under it then you must be the one who stinks up the entire building with your rotten French dishes!" Arthur snapped. "I've been wanting to complain about you to the landlord for a long time!"

Francis gasped. "The dishes I make are delicacies! Judging by the state of your foul apartment, you look like you live out of take out boxes! You wouldn't know REAL food if it bit you in the ass!" Francis snapped.

"Is that so?!" Arthur growled.

"Oui! Just like you wouldn't know good music either!" Francis said with a small sneer.

Arthur froze. That comment hit a nerve. He put EVERYTHING into this band. This was his DREAM. To hear someone call them terrible… well, it made something in him snap.

The fight started with Arthur throwing a punch and finished with Matthias and Antonio pulling apart the two bloodied and bruised men.

"Calm down Arthur!" Antonio said desperately as he clung to the struggling man. "Fighting is not allowed in your building, remember?! Do you want to get kicked out?!"

The blonde wiped some blood from his upper lip and finally straightened himself out as he glared at Francis. "No. He's not worth it." He spat and went up to the door that Matthias had dragged Francis through. "Let him go Matthias. He won't talk to the landlord because he was fighting too." He said flatly and waited for the Dane to come back inside before shutting and locking the door as Francis wiped his bloody nose and started trudging back down the stairs.

Antonio and Matthias looked at their bandmate silently as he found a bag of frozen peas to put over his black eyes. "You two should go home. I have to get a lot done tonight before tomorrow."

Antonio frowned "But- "

Arthur glared. "I said. Go. Home." He growled and just watched as the two men quietly got up and walked out. Antonio lingered in the doorway for a moment, looking concerned, but finally walked out, shutting the door gently behind him.

Once he was alone (save for Alfred sleeping soundly in his room), Arthur looked around the dirty apartment and let out a small groan as he leaned against the door. Child Protective Services were coming tomorrow afternoon. He needed to have this place ship shape and his act together if he wanted to remain on their good side…

Getting creative with a bootlace, Arthur managed to tie the bag of frozen peas over his eye so that he could use both of his hands to start cleaning the messy apartment. He started with removing all the empty take out containers from the many rooms. After that he did the dishes and put them all away. Once that was done he collected all the dirty laundry scattered about the apartment and put it into the washing machine. While that was running, he cleaned out any questionable foods from the fridge (which unfortunately made it look quite empty) and gave the kitchen and bathroom a much-needed scrubbing.

Once the bag of peas was no longer cold, he re-strung his boot and put the bag back into the freezer. Arthur held in a groan when he saw that it was already 3:15. He had less than 13 hours before the agents showed up and there was still so much to do.

As he started to store away all evidence of his band, Arthur found himself lost in memories of earlier that week, when he'd found out about the meeting with the agents.

" _You have to tell them that you get three square meals a day, alright? That I do my best to cook you nutritious breakfasts and dinners." Arthur said softy, his hands gently resting on top of Alfred's shoulders._

" _B-But Artie, that's ly- "The boy began, but was swiftly cut off by the man._

" _Lying? I know. I know Alfred, but this is very important, okay?" He asked with a small frown, gently brushing the boy's fringe away from his forehead for a moment._

" _B-But you said lying is bad…" Alfred whimpered, and Arthur cursed himself for teaching him such good morals._

" _I KNOW what I said, Alfred." Arthur growled, his voice rising as he grew a little frustrated. "But if they don't think I'm taking good care of you… they'll take you away from me." The man said sadly and watched the boy's eyes go large._

" _N-No… no Artie I don't wanna go with them! I wanna stay with you!" Alfred whimpered and quickly hugged the blonde who held him close._

" _I know you do. So that's why we have to lie a little bit, okay? Just little white lies. They won't hurt anyone. They're to keep us together, okay?"_

 _Alfred sniffled a little and nodded. "Okay…"_

 _Arthur smiled. "Good lad. Now, you'll also need to tell them that I do a good job keeping this place clean, and that I'm a responsible guardian to you, got it? We'll also need to think of something to explain your tardiness and disciplinary actions at school…" Arthur mumbled, trying to put more of their act together as Alfred just watched and listened with a tiny frown._

Arthur sighed heavily as he glanced at the alarm clock. 4:45 in the morning. He only had about an hour and fifteen minutes before he had to get up and head into Alfred's room, but it was better than nothing. After all, the entire apartment was spotless and smelled like lemon air freshener, all traces of his band supplies were gone, as well as all of his piercings and "punk" clothes. He'd done a damn fine job getting the place in order. Now all he had to do was pull off the act tomorrow and he'd be home free! At least for a little while!

An hour later he dragged himself from his bed and got Alfred up for the day without much resistance from the boy's end. He seemed nervous and Arthur gave him an extra long hug that morning in front of the school. "Don't worry Alfred, things will be fine after today." Arthur said with a smile before letting go and watching the boy retreat inside of the large building.

The tired blonde sighed and headed home again. He'd taken the day off from work to ensure that he would be able to pick Alfred up from school on time. If only that's what had really happened…

The man awoke with a start as he heard the door open, practically falling off the couch as he watched a white-faced Alfred walk in with two stone-faced CPS agents behind him.

The man glanced at the woman who turned her attention to Arthur. "We've been waiting outside your apartment for a good twenty minutes, Mr. Kirkland." She said icily. "We assumed you had perhaps left to pick Alfred up, but he was the one who ended up letting us in. You let a six-year-old travel from school to home by himself?" She asked coldly as the man stood up.

"Come along, Alfred. I'd like to speak to you in your room while Agent Smith speaks to Arthur out here." He took the boy's hand and Alfred could only look back nervously as he saw panic set into Arthur's eyes.

Arthur felt his heart drop into his stomach. He'd forgotten to wake up on time. These agents had been standing outside his apartment door knocking for almost half an hour and when they came inside he'd been sleeping on the couch!

The man forced down the scream of horror building up inside of him. "W-Well I believe in teaching independence at a young age!" He stammered quickly as he straightened up to speak with the woman. "T-This area of the city is quite safe, and Alfred is a very smart lad. B-Besides, If I had to pick Alfred up from school _every_ day of the week, it would really affect my hours at the library, which I try to keep as many of as possible…" He mumbled and watched as she took out a pen and wrote some things down on the clipboard.

"I see." She replied numbly. "I'll just put your income reliability down as _questionable_ then." She said coldly, looking up as Arthur flinched a little.

The Brit stood up and hurried to the kitchen. "W-Would you like some tea as we chat? I've got Earl Grey, Mint, and Chai!" He called.

The woman frowned and joined him in the kitchen, stopping him as he filled the kettle with water. "I'd rather skip the pleasantries, Mr. Kirkland." She said flatly and glanced at the kettle before looking back at him. "We both know why I'm here."

Arthur paled a little and just nodded as they returned to the living room and the brown-haired woman picked up her clipboard once more. She asked Arthur a few basic questions to begin with. How many hours did he work per week, what was his average income, how often was he home, etc. These were all easy to answer, but soon she moved on to the hard hitters.

"It has come to our attention that Alfred has had numerous disciplinary problems at school as of late. Care to explain those to me?"

Arthur swallowed. "To my understanding, some of the other children… tease Alfred. Because of his situation." He said gently. "I'm sure you know how kids can be sometimes… I taught Alfred to stand up for himself. Personally, I don't believe that's wrong." He mumbled.

She raised an eyebrow and paused her writing. "So, you _encourage_ Alfred to use violence to solve his problems?" She asked with a frown.

Arthur froze and glared at her. "You know that's not what I mean. You're twisting my words." He said quickly as the woman narrowed her eyes at him.

"You'd do well to watch your tone with me Mr. Kirkland." She said flatly and watched the man just lean back and look away with a frown. The woman looked back at her clipboard, pushing her glasses up a little. "Alfred's grievances aren't all fighting related. He also seems to have quite a few tardies on his record. Care to explain those?" She asked and looked up at Arthur who swallowed thickly before beginning to answer.

"Well, you know how the trains are in this city…" He waved his hand awkwardly and looked away. "You can never really tell when they'll decide to leave early…" He mumbled, and she frowned even more.

"It is your job to get him to school on time, Mr. Kirkland." She said flatly. "Can you afford a car at this point in time or not?" She asked.

Arthur frowned deeply. "W-Well with the city traffic it's just so- "

"Mr. Kirkland." She snapped. "Do you have a reliable means of transportation? Since the city's trains are apparently oh so unreliable?"

Arthur's lips formed a thin line. "… No." He finally mumbled and just watched as she scribbled something else down onto her clipboard.

The woman looked up at him. "I'm going to be honest with you Mr. Kirkland. This isn't looking very good for you." She said calmly, watching the man for a reaction. "I just have a few more questions."

Arthur had gone a ghostly white, his thoughts already racing. Was he going to lose Alfred today…? He just nodded numbly, quietly watching the woman.

"You and Alfred are not related biologically, correct?" She asked, glancing at her clipboard.

"No, we aren't." Arthur said gently and looked down. "My parents adopted him after I… left… college. I didn't even know about him until I learned of their death's. He seemed like a good kid, and I was technically his only legal relative, so I took him in almost two years ago."

She nodded and wrote that all down. "Even though you had no legal obligation to? Tell me, do you think your parents were using this boy as your replacement?" She asked, leaning forward a little to gauge his reaction and test his mental health.

Arthur got a sour look on his face. "I don't care what they were using him for. They aren't here now, and he seemed like a good kid. I wanted to take him in and I did. We're brothers now. He'll be crushed if you separate us." He added with a final growl.

The woman nodded, leaning back and writing again. "I will do what I feel is best for Alfred." She said flatly and glanced up as Arthur started to reply. "Quite frankly, this little balancing act you're trying to pull is not what's best for him." She said flatly, and Arthur stiffened up.

"I saw the poster for your band at a local bar." She leaned back in the armchair. "I must say, you've done a very good job hiding it until now."

Arthur just silently watched her, dreading what she would say next.

"Hobbies are fine Mr. Kirkland. They're healthy, even. But there is not room in your life for a growing boy AND a punk rock band." She said calmly and stood up. "If you truly wish to raise Alfred, then you have to dedicate everything you have to making that happen. I am giving you until the end of Alfred's school year to turn this situation around and prove to me that Alfred is the number one priority in your life because right now, I'm not sure that he is."

The woman headed over to the door as her partner emerged from Alfred's room to join her. She looked back at him. "Remember Mr. Kirkland. You have until June." She said calmly and opened the door. "We'll be in touch."

Both agents walked out the door, leaving Arthur sitting on the couch staring numbly at the ground. Give up… on his dreams?

Alfred had emerged from his room shortly after the agents left, rushing to the living room to hug Arthur.

"D-Did I do good?" He whimpered and looked up at the green-eyed man. "T-They aren't going to take me away?"

Arthur smiled sadly as he held Alfred on his lap. "No, they aren't going to take you away. We're fine for now." He said softly and hugged Alfred, gently kissing the top of his head as worry ate away at his insides.

Once they had both calmed down, Arthur tossed some chicken nuggets into the oven (even he couldn't screw those up) and the two of them enjoyed a dinner of dinosaur shaped nuggets in front of the television.

After dinner, Arthur did the dishes while Alfred showered and got dressed in his pajamas. Once the boy was all tucked in, Arthur spent twenty minutes continuing the bedtime story he'd been telling Alfred for two years now, The Adventures of Captain Iggy. They were charming tales about a very brave (and of course incredibly handsome) pirate who often stole from the rich and gave to the poor.

Arthur had studied English at university before he'd dropped out, and he was proud that he'd at least maintained the ability to craft a decent story. Perhaps that's why songwriting came naturally to him as well?

Once Alfred was fast asleep, Arthur pulled out his phone and sent a text to Antonio and Matthias. "Meet me at the pub, I need a drink."

After hitting send, Arthur grabbed a jacket and locked the apartment door before heading out.

Perhaps those social workers were right. Maybe Arthur wasn't really a great guardian. After all, was leaving a six-year-old home alone at night while you went out drinking really something a responsible guardian would do?

Three drinks later, Arthur couldn't be bothered to care about the answer to that question. He was currently slumped over the counter, sadly recalling the conversation with the social worker earlier that day.

"It's all HIS fault, y'know!" The man growled, his words slurring a little.

Antonio frowned deeply. "Whose fault? Alfred's…?"

"NO!" Arthur said sharply and glared at his ex. "The snooty fuck that interrupted band practice last night! Y'Know, the hot one?!"

Matthias froze, and a huge grin appeared on his face. "Hot? Arthur you like, bashed that guys face in!" He laughed. "He's probably not looking so hot anymore!" The man cackled as Arthur glared at him.

"Bruises heal. He'll still be hot… he is a snooty fuck though! If he hadn't interrupted and made me mad we could have just finished practice like normal and cleaned the apartment like we planned!"

Antonio frowned. "I tried to stay and help but… you wanted us out."

Arthur glared. "Exactly! Because HE made me mad!" the drunken man groaned. "I don't even know his name. All I know is that he dresses like some kind of DILF and cooks things so pungent you can smell it through the vents." He mumbled and then froze, his eyes lighting up with the kind of idea only someone really drunk could have.

"O-Oi, he must be pretty good at that type of domestic stuff then, don't you agree?"

Antonio frowned "He certainly seems like the type, but I'm not sure what that has to do with you…"

"I need to get better at that stuff! He's already good at it and it always helps having a teacher who's hot…"

Antonio groaned. "Arthur, you literally got into a fist fight with this man the first time you conversed with him. Why would he teach you how to cook and clean properly? You could just YouTube that stuff!"

Arthur glared. "YouTube can't vouch for me in a case with Child Services." He muttered, a bit of sobriety leaking back into his voice. "I need to figure out some way to get close to that man again…"

Francis panted as he stared at the canvas. Slowly, a small grin formed on his face. He didn't care if it hurt to smile. He didn't care if one of his eyes was swollen shut or that there was dried blood on his upper lip. He didn't care about any of that because finally, _finally_ , after two long years he'd broken free of his art block.

He examined the emotional piece, admiring the paint splatters comprised of red, blue, and black. The piece embodied rage. The rage he felt at his situation, the rage that he'd been holding in for years because he was too ashamed to acknowledge it, he finally had someone that manifested it. Someone he could openly despise without any backlash. He examined the acidic green eyes that were nearly hidden by the other swirls of color in the painting as he put it up to dry.

As Francis headed to bed he had an almost sickening realization. That vile, vulgar, holier than thou punk rocker was the only muse he had at the moment. The only thing that seemed to inspire real emotions in his art, and because of that….

Francis would need to approach that man again.

 _ **A/N: Chapter 3 down! I'm not sure when chapter 4 will be out due to finals, but I hope you guys leave some nice reviews in the meantime!**_


	4. Déjeuners écrasés et coups de poing

_**A/N: I'm back! Sorry this one took so long, but finals week is a killer. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how much time to write I'll have this Summer either. I've got an internship at a software company, so I'll be working 9-5 most days. I'm hoping weekends will be free but the will to write has to be there. I forced myself to write chapter 3 while procrastinating on a final project and as I looked back over it I could tell the quality wasn't what I hold myself to usually. I think this one turned out a little better, but I'm the kind of person who always looks back on something I wrote and hate it since I always find little mistakes or pieces that could have been done better.**_

 _ **This chapter is from Matthieu's POV, I really enjoyed writing it. We delve a little deeper into his character and learn some things from him that aren't always apparent about Francis.**_

 _ **Be warned, this chapter does contain bullying, slurs, and just generally bad feelings.**_

 _ **As always, I don't own the characters or Hetalia.**_

 _ **Anyways, enough rambling from me. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter after the long wait!**_

 **Chapter 4 – Déjeuners écrasés et coups de poing:**

Matthieu was quite surprised by his elder brother's appearance when he woke up the next morning. One of Francis' eyes was black and swollen shut, and the man was sporting a swollen cheek and lip to go along with it.

The boy stared at Francis with wide eyes as he scrambled upright in his bed. "W-What happened to you?!" He squealed, leaning forward to examine his older brother's face in better detail.

Francis paused at the question, leaning back so that the six-year-old would be unable to touch his sensitive face. "Ah… would you believe it?" He chuckled nervously. "I fell out of bed last night and landed right on my face! I'm surprised I didn't wake you up!" He smiled.

Matthieu froze and frowned deeply, hugging his favorite stuffed polar bear close. The boy knew his brother was lying, you couldn't get a black eye from landing flat on the floor… He didn't like it when Francis lied to him. It felt like his older brother was doing that more and more lately. Like pretending not to be upset with him that day at the library, or saying stuff was no trouble when he needed to do something for Matthieu. Matthieu knew his brother got sick of him sometimes, but he never brought it up because he didn't want to make Francis even more annoyed with him.

It was thoughts like these that kept Matthieu from questioning Francis. The boy just nodded gently and watched the man carefully. "I hope it doesn't hurt anymore…" He murmured, burying his face into the soft fur of the stuffed bear he was holding.

Francis' eyes softened, and he nodded, gently putting a hand on top of Matt's head. "It's not too bad, I'll get through the day." The man smiled before glancing at Matt's alarm clock and standing up. "Alright! Hurry and get up! We've got to leave in exactly forty minutes if we want to make it to school on time!"

Matthieu felt dread rise in his stomach at the mention of that place. He didn't mind learning, in fact he greatly enjoyed it. Class time was his favorite part of the day! It was free time and lunch and recess that were the scary parts… but he couldn't tell Francis that. Then the man would be annoyed that there was one more thing he had to deal with for Matthieu.

Instead, the boy just nodded and obediently got out of bed. He headed into his bathroom and brushed his teeth, washed his face, and combed his hair before walking back out to his room where Francis had already laid out clothes for him to wear that day.

Matthieu got dressed and headed out to the kitchen. It was Wednesday, that meant they were having tartine. Matt was simple and liked his with butter and jam, but sometimes Francis melted cheese and put meat or veggies on his.

Matt had been embarrassed when he'd first told his teacher that's what he had for breakfast sometimes. The Spanish woman hadn't understood until Matt had told her that it was a toasted baguette that could have lots of different things on top of it. After that incident he learned to make sure he knew the English equivalent of a word before mentioning something at school.

Once breakfast was finished and cleaned up, the two of them were out the door right on time, as always. Matthieu was silent on the ride to school, as he usually was. Francis hated to say it, but he liked it that way.

Matthieu was by no means an unruly child, but kids could just be _loud_. They were energetic, and Matthieu was no different than any other when he was in the mood. Francis was glad his little brother was sluggish in the mornings. It gave the man time to collect his thoughts and prepare himself for the day. He wasn't sure he could make it through a morning drive where Matthieu asked him questions about all the different things he'd heard or learned about, like he usually did on their afternoon rides back home. Did liking some peace and quiet make him a bad guardian? He didn't think so.

They arrived at the school and Francis smiled like always as Matt timidly opened the car door. "Have fun today Matthieu!" The man called cheerfully. "I can't wait to hear all about it!"

Matthieu waved nervously before just turning and heading into the building, gripping the straps of his polar bear backpack tightly. Once Francis' car was out of sight Matthieu felt himself roughly shoved out of the way of larger or more rambunctious kids who were hurrying to enter the building. The boy could already tell it was going to be one of _those_ days.

Matthieu found himself unable to concentrate very much during class time that day. He couldn't stop replaying Francis' lie to him that morning. Did his brother think he was dumb? Did he just want Matt to stay out of his business? Did he not trust Matt?

These thoughts continued to race through the boy's head and he found himself looking around the classroom. Many of the children weren't paying attention as the teacher showed them an interactive model of some sort of dinosaur up on the projector screen. Most of the other kids were instead whispering to their friends about the new toy they had, or the latest episode of a popular cartoon, or funny things their parents or siblings had told them.

The boy felt a dull pain in his chest. He didn't have anyone to share any of those things with. None of the other children acknowledged him at all really. It was the same way in Kindergarten too. Matthieu would talk to someone for a while and apparently not having a mama or papa was a real bummer to a lot of the kids. They'd get this look on their face when he told them his brother took care of him. They'd give him these looks that just spelled out "I feel bad for you" or "you're different".

Matthieu _hated_ those looks.

After getting those looks on their faces, any potential friends would always just make up some excuse and hurry away from him. They'd go find louder and more interesting-more _normal-_ friends and leave Matthieu alone, as he'd always been.

The boy didn't understand it. Francis bought him new toys. He watched all the cartoons they talked about, why wasn't he allowed to be their friend? Why did they have to push him away and ignore him?

The boy sighed sadly and began doodling on his note sheet. He'd had parents once. Francis had shown him lots of pictures of them. He wished desperately that he could remember them, but Francis said that people didn't really remember things that happened while they were babies.

Matthieu had brought a picture of his parents in for show and tell one time, hoping to show the others that he wasn't so different from them, but instead of proving that he was like everyone else the class had gotten awkwardly quiet and people avoided him more than usual that day. To top it all off Francis was really mad that Matt had brought such a "precious" item in to school for show and tell. What if something had happened to it?

Matthieu had just looked at the picture of the strangers and cried himself to sleep that night.

Matthieu felt some tears race to his eyes at the painful memory, but he quickly blinked them away. He couldn't cry here. People would just pick on him even more than they already did. Being ignored was at least better than getting bullied outright, but he wasn't exempt from that either.

Matthieu let out a quiet cry of pain as he was pushed to the dirt at recess, he looked up at the bigger boy and whimpered in fear.

Ivan Braginsky was the tallest kid in their class, and the meanest one too. Matthieu had wondered how someone like Ivan had friends and he didn't, but he'd realized pretty early in the year that the three boys who followed Ivan around weren't really his friends, they were just scared of him.

Ivan sneered at Matthew. "That's weird." The boy began in a teasing tone. "For a second it was almost like someone had been sitting in _my_ swing, but I guess it was just the wind." He said with a vicious grin.

Matthieu looked down. Ivan loved to pretend that Matthieu was invisible. He did it so much that a few of the other kids in their class had joined in on it to. Going from being ignored at school all day to being dismissed by Francis when he got home… it hurt. Matthieu hated when Ivan did this. Some days it was so bad Matthieu wondered if he really was invisible to everyone else.

Matthieu had tried to bring Ivan up to Francis a few times, but it seemed like the man had always been distracted when Matthieu tried to tell him things. All three times that Matthieu had tried to talk to Francis about Ivan resulted in Francis waving his hand and focusing more on whatever he'd been doing at the time. "Mhm, usually when someone acts rude it's just because they have a bad home life, Matthieu. You should try to be nice to those people." Francis explained and had sent him on his way.

Being nice to Ivan had gotten Matthieu nowhere. He'd had one of his favorite stuffed animals ripped in half when he tried to share it with Ivan, and then he'd been forced to eat dirt that day at recess. After that, Matthieu had just started doing his best to avoid Ivan at all costs.

The boy silently stood up and dusted himself off, sadly walking away from the swings as Ivan took his spot with a chuckle, ordering his "servants" to push him.

Nobody else wanted to share their playground equipment or include Matt in their games, so the boy spent the entire recess sitting alone by a tree on the far side of the playground.

All in all, it was a pretty average recess for Matthieu.

They were herded back inside after a while, and Matt was relieved that time of the day was over. The class got back to their room and everyone pulled out their lunches while Ms. Carmen took a phone call outside in the hallway.

Matt smiled as he pulled his lunch out of his cubby. Francis at least took the time to make him a tasty lunch every day. He probably got the best lunches in the entire class. At least he never had to share anything since he didn't have any friends to share with.

He eagerly grabbed the paper bag and turned to go back to his desk with it but gasped as it was suddenly knocked from his hands. The boy could only watch in horror as Ivan grinned maliciously and harshly brought his foot down on the bag, completely destroying the contents within.

Ivan grinned and looked around at the crowd that had appeared. "Did you guys see that floating lunch bag? Good thing I took care of it, da?" He started laughing and the majority of the class joined in.

Matthieu felt tears rush to his eyes. He was invisible to these people. Nothing but a ghost, a burden they wanted to ignore, someone they wanted to get rid of, to forget about.

Ivan's grin widened. "Wow! Now there's tears appearing in mid air too! Maybe our classroom is haunted by a wimpy ghost!" He howled with laughter.

The rest of the class joined in and the noise grew louder and louder. Matt felt himself reaching his breaking point but froze and looked over when a different voice cut through the crowd.'

"Leave him alone, asshole." Alfred growled as he pushed through the crowd to stand in front of Matthieu.

The crowd of six-year-olds gasped and fell quiet at the use of the curse word. That was Alfred Kirkland… He got in trouble a lot for being tardy or rude in the classroom. He wore cool band t-shirts to school and was the class bad boy. He even got to walk home by himself! He was certainly the only one tough enough to stand up to Ivan…

Ivan smiled softly, but it didn't reach his cold eyes. He turned to face the shorter boy. "Sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about." He said sweetly. "I was merely protecting our class from the wimpy ghost that seems to haunt it."

Alfred glared. "Shut up. You were just bullying Matthew." He said flatly, and Ivan looked irked that someone had dared to mention the other boy's name.

Matt stared with wide eyes. Alfred Kirkland, the class bad boy, knew who he was?!

Ivan growled. "Who is this Matthew you speak of? I don't see anything."

Alfred glared. "You know who he is. I think you're just jealous of him." The boy said and smirked when Ivan's eyes narrowed in anger.

"Why on Earth would I be jealous of a crybaby ghost?" Ivan snorted.

Alfred smirked. "Where's your lunch, Ivan?" He asked gently and watched the boy tense up. "I didn't see you go to the cafeteria today either. Don't you have one?" Alfred sneered. "Even my brother gets up and packs me a lunch every morning."

Ivan clenched his fists. "Maybe so, but that's not something to be proud of." Ivan growled. "My papa says your brother likes to date other men. I believe people like him are called oh… da, _fags_." The boy hissed. "I wouldn't want my lunch to be made by a _fag._ "

Alfred lost it the minute Ivan insulted his brother. He launched himself at the other boy and the two of them began rolling around on the ground. Punches were thrown, arms were bitten, hair was pulled, and eyes were poked before Ms. Carmen re-entered the room and gasped when she saw the two boys rolling around on the floor together. She immediately tore them apart and started dragging both of them to the Principal's office.

Before he was dragged out of the room, Alfred looked back at Matthieu. "You can have my lunch instead, it's in my cubby." He explained before Ms. Carmen re-adjusted her grip on his arm and dragged him out.

Matthieu and the rest of the class stood there in other shock, but soon a large grin spread on Matt's face as he turned and made his way over to Alfred's cubby and pulled out the boy's lunch. It was just a Lunchables and a juice box, but Matthieu couldn't stop grinning. Someone knew who he was. Someone stood up for him! Someone was his _friend_.

Francis looked surprised as he saw Matthieu race towards his car that afternoon. Usually the boy was excited to get out of school, but he hadn't seen a grin like that on Matthieu's face in a long time.

He unlocked the doors and watched as the boy climbed into the backseat, buckling himself in. Francis pulled away from the curb and looked at his brother through the rear-view mirror. "It looks like someone had a good day." The man mused.

Matthieu looked like he would burst at the seams. "I did!" The boy cheered, bouncing in his seat excitedly.

Francis nodded. "Oh? What was it that made today so good?" he asked, moving his eyes back towards the road.

"I made a new friend!" Matthieu cheered.

Francis paused and felt himself smile a little. Matthieu did quite well in school, but his teacher had told Francis she was worried about him on the social front. He just didn't seem to get along with the other children.

"Is that so?" Francis chuckled. "Tell me about this friend." He replied, preparing to tune Matthieu out so that he could focus on the drive home.

Matthieu grinned and launched into his explanation. "His name's Alfred! He's really strong and looks a lot like me and he always wears these cool shirts to school and he likes super heroes and dinosaurs and he's really good at kickball at recess and-!"

Francis hummed as he vaguely listened to Matthieu gush in the background. When the boy finally finished the man just smiled. "Perhaps we should invite this friend over to dinner sometime."

Matt gasped and grinned. "Oui! I think he'd really like that!" The boy beamed. "I'll invite him on Friday!"

Francis nodded gently, making a mental note to remember that as he continued driving home. "That sounds good! I hope he likes the food." Francis smiled softly. On Fridays he generally made Hachis Parmentier, it was the French (and much more refined) version of Shepard's Pie. It was just meat and potatoes, he couldn't see a child turning that down.

Matthieu smiled, thinking of Alfred's sad excuse for a lunch earlier that day. "I'm sure he'll be fine with anything!" The boy hummed, looking out the window as he dreamily thought about how much fun he would have on Friday.

Matthieu eagerly looked around for Alfred the next day at school but was distraught when he couldn't find the other boy. He asked the teacher about it at lunchtime.

The Spanish woman looked down at Matthieu. "Alfred and Ivan were both given a day of in school suspension for fighting, Matthieu. They'll both be back in class tomorrow." She said calmly as she worked on erasing the white board. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Alfred and Ivan need to be separated from now on, so I'm going to move Alfred across the room to the empty seat next to you, alright?" she asked, looking down at her most timid student.

To her surprise, the boy seemed thrilled by the news. "That's fine!" Matthieu chirped. "Thanks Ms. Carmen!" he called, following the others outside for recess.

He grinned as he played on a swing, not having to worry about Ivan pushing him off it that day. He looked over and noticed the three boys that followed Ivan around happily playing in the sandbox. They looked relieved as well.

Matthieu smiled. Alfred really was a hero for standing up to Ivan.

The next day Matthieu smiled eagerly as Ms. Carmen directed Alfred to his new seat. Once class started Matthieu excitedly began whispering to the other boy. "I wanted to thank you for standing up to Ivan the other day." Matt said gently, and Alfred looked over.

"Someone needed to do it. He was being a douche." Alfred said with a frown and Matthieu nodded gently. He didn't know what douche meant in English, but it probably wasn't good.

"I wanted to thank you somehow, do you want to come over for dinner tonight? My brother is a really good cook!"

Alfred paused and grinned. Arthur had told him never to turn down a free meal. "Sure! That sounds really cool!" The boy said kindly.

Matt felt his heart jump. Alfred thought something he invited him to was _cool_. Matt nodded and carefully wrote down his address on a piece of paper. "Here's my address, apartment 714." He explained.

Al gasped. "That's the building I live in!"

Matt's eyes widened. Alfred had lived that close his entire life?! "G-Great! We eat dinner at six on the dot." He explained.

"I'll be there!" Alfred assured him.

Matthieu had the best day of school he'd ever had. He and Alfred talked during free time and lunch, and at recess Alfred had picked Matthieu first for his team for kickball! It really was an amazing day…

Francis picked Matthieu up from school that day and smiled as the boy clambered into the car. "So, is this friend of yours coming to dinner?" He asked as he pulled away from the curb.

Matt nodded with a smile. "Yeah! He'll be there! He actually lives…"

Francis hummed and tuned Matthieu out again as he focused on the road, thinking how much he should add to the recipe to make enough for 4 or maybe 5 people. Matthieu's friend was only six-years-old after all, surely his parents would bring him to dinner and at least meet Francis to make sure he wasn't some sort of child killer or anything.

The two of them got home and Francis got to work on dinner while Matthieu hurried to his room and pulled out his favorite toys in preparation of Alfred's arrival.

The doorbell rang at 5:55 and Matthieu raced to answer it. "Hi Alfred!" the boy grinned as his guest smiled and walked through the door.

Francis looked over as he set the food down on the table. "Bonsoir! Welcome to our home!" The man called cheerfully but paused when he saw that the boy was alone (and did in fact look quite similar to Matthieu).

The man paused and walked over, drying his hands on his apron. "You must be Alfred. Did your parents decide not to join us tonight?" Francis asked in confusion as he glanced around the doorway. Alfred must have had very lax parents if they'd sent him to a stranger's home all alone...

Alfred paused and looked up at Francis. "I live with my older brother! We're actually your neighbors!" The boy smiled, and Francis paused. The units next to them didn't have any children…

"Oh, really? Do you live in the building next to this one?" Francis asked with a chuckle.

Alfred laughed. "No! I'm in the apartment right above yours!"

Matthieu grinned widely. "Isn't that great Francis?!"

Francis was standing there frozen in shock. The only thing he could think of were the piercing green eyes of that so-called man. The very man that Francis needed to get into contact with.

Francis glanced up at the ceiling. "Is that so?" He asked lightly. "I suppose God works in mysterious ways." The man said thoughtfully before turning to the boys. "Enough chit chat! Let's dig in! I'll walk you back up to your apartment afterwards, Alfred." The man said, a warm smile growing on his face.

For the first time in a long time, it seemed like things were starting to work out for Francis.

 _ **A/N: Finally, something goes right for Francis. The poor guy needs a break sometimes, right? I'm going to be honest, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out. It could be as soon as this weekend, or as late as the end of Summer depending on how busy I get. I'm much more motivated to write when people review/critique my work, so I hope you guys leave some motivational reviews for me! Till next time!**_


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